


Offers of Aid

by lygodesma



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguing, Beleg just wants to help, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing a Bed, also rip grithnir we hardly knew ya, but Turin is an angry fool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lygodesma/pseuds/lygodesma
Summary: “He’s a good lad. Got his father’s eyes and mother’s strong heart.” Gethron said as an apology to Beleg.“If when you say strong, you also mean stubborn.”Gethron smiled. “Aye, he is. With any luck he’ll grow out of it.”Turin grows out of it eventually, and discovers that it's nice to let Beleg help.
Relationships: Beleg Cúthalion & Túrin Turambar, Beleg Cúthalion/Túrin Turambar
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

I.

The journey from his family’s home in Hithlum to the Halls of Menegroth was long, difficult, and silent. Turin had favored his mother both in his dark complexion and serious manner since birth, but as the journey progressed, he grew more grave and seemed to be far older than nine years old. Gethron and Grithnir, Turin’s traveling companions, were valiant warriors but they did not know how to cheer the young child. So, the many weeks of the journey passed dully. 

When the group reached the Vale of Sirion, having passed through the cold and snow of the Shadowy Mountains, Gethron began pointing out the names of plants and birds that they passed. Turin listened attentively, but still spoke little. Turin thought often of his mother, of Sador, and of his father’s beautiful chair which they would have to burn for firewood. His heart grew heavier with each thought, and Gethron stopped telling him the names of the bright flowers that grew on the sides of their path.

One week after the group passed into the Forest of Brethil, they ran out of food. Gethron and Grithnir had rationed carefully, and each had given their last bits of supplies to Turin, but the Forest of Brethil was pathless to strangers. The group wandered through towering trees, desperate and hungry. Turin tripped over a tree root and fell without a cry. Within moments Gethron knelt at his side, helping him stand again.

“Your father would be proud of you, lad.” His rough hand gripped the young boy’s shoulder. Turin looked at the ground and remained silent.

“You have come so far and travelled a difficult road without complaint. It is Grithnir and I who have failed your mother’s command, not you.” Gethron’s grip was insistent. Turin looked up and nodded his head once, mouth set in a firm line.

“Your mother would be proud of you, too.” Gethron added.

A sob escaped from his small body. Turin wrenched his should out of Gethron’s grip and turned away. He let out a wild yell and fell to his knees, letting loose the loud and painful sobs that wrecked his chest. Overhead, birds took flight at the sudden noise.

Gethron remained kneeling where he was. He looked over at Grithnir who had moved to sit with his back against a nearby tree. In his companion’s face, he saw his own exhaustion and despair. They both knew they would die from lack of water in a few days. Grithnir lowered his head in a gesture of respect. They had done their best, it said. Gethron returned the gesture and then closed his eyes. He was so incredibly weary.

A clear horn sounded close by. With great effort, Gethron moves to his feet and stepped close to young Turin. The boy had stopped crying at the sound of the horn, but he remained on the forest ground. “What was that?” Asked Turin.

“The horn of the captain of the Marchwardens.” A voice answered, clear and confident as the horn. An elf wearing armor colored in forest greens and browns stepped in front of the group. His eyes were sharp as he surveyed the pathetic trio, but not unkind. “And it is my horn. But now I have a question for you, young master. What is your business in Doriath?”

Turin made no reply, struck dumb by weariness and surprise. He had never seen such beautiful silver hair and in those first moments, he wondered if he was dreaming.

Gethron stepped between the elf captain and Turin. “My name is Gethron, and this is my companion Grithnir. We serve Lord Hurin and Lady Morwen. This is their son, Turin. The Lady entrusted us to guard her son on the passage to Doriath so that he may ask a boon from the Elf-King.”

“I am Beleg Cuthalion. You are welcome here.” Beleg put his right hand over his chest and bowed slightly to Gethron. At this gesture, more elves appeared out of the surrounding forest. They offered waterskins and food to the group of humans, who received the gifts gratefully. Beleg moved to sit next to Turin.

“I will take you King Thingol’s hall tomorrow. No one is in the condition to complete the journey today.” Beleg smiled kindly at Turin whose eyes widened at the attention. “What boon would you have of King Thingol, young lordling?”

“I would be one of his knights, to ride against Morgoth, and avenge my father.” Turin spoke the words in a rush, but Beleg could see that he fervently meant them.

“Perhaps you will, once the years and food increase your stature. But though you are small, I see the makings of a valiant man, worthy to be a child of Hurin.” Turin looked at the ground, but his tearstained cheeks flushed with pride from the captain’s words.

That night, surrounded by watchful elves and with full stomachs, the humans slept deeply and restfully. They awoke the following morning having recovered almost all of their previous strength. When everything had been packed away and the company was ready to move, young Turin made his way to stand next to the captain. Beleg looked down on him and smiled.

“It is a long road for little legs. I could bear you on my back if you wish.”

At Beleg’s well-intended words, Turin recoiled. He forgot all of his previous gratitude towards his savior.

“Little as they are, my legs walked me from Hithlum to here.” Turin reply hotly. “I will finish the journey on my own and will reach the King’s hall without anyone’s aid.”

Beleg raised his eyebrows at this declaration, and Grithnir opened his mouth to defuse the situation. But Beleg raised a calming hand towards the guard.

“As you wish. But know that you may accept my offer of aid further down the path, should you change your mind.”

“I will not.” And with those words, Turin began walking. As fate would have it, he chose the right direction. The other elves exchanged amused glances and moved ahead. Gethron caught Beleg’s eye and the two fell in step.

“He’s a good lad. Got his father’s eyes and mother’s strong heart.” Gethron said as an apology to Beleg.

“If when you say strong, you also mean stubborn.”

Gethron smiled. “Aye, he is. With any luck he’ll grow out of it.”


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Beleg disliked snow on principle. Though he could never truly feel cold, he disliked the gritty feeling of snow on his hands when he checked the ground for tracks. He disliked having to wear a large white cloak in order to blend into his surroundings. And he disliked the way snow reflected the sun’s light and seemed to wash out all colors. But mostly, Beleg disliked the idea that somewhere out in the snow Turin could be cold.

The elf sighed. 

The only good aspect of snow was that it lent itself well for introspection. Well, introspection and worrying about a certain man.

Many years had passed since Beleg had first met Turin. He hadn’t seen much of Turin’s childhood in Menegroth, but once the man had joined him in the North-Marches the two were nearly inseparable. Beleg had found Turin to be a loyal, if grumpy, companion and enjoyed every moment they had spent together.

‘But the one time I departed from your side, you decided to exile yourself without reason!’ Beleg thought. ‘Then I track you down and find you spilling your blood for low-bred criminals. And I had to leave your side again.’

Beleg stopped walking. A different kind of cold settled in his chest.

‘What has happened since I left? Turin, you fool, I hope you fare well.’

A few days later Beleg spots his prey. Three Gaurwaith stood together facing different directions under the sparse canopies of a clump of trees. Their alert postures belied them as lookouts, which meant their campsite would not be far away. Despite himself, Beleg felt proud. Turin, who was known as Neithan to these men, had turned criminals into respectable sentries, capable of spotting orcs or other dark creatures miles away.

The men, of course, were not skilled enough to spot an elf. But Beleg enjoyed surprising the humans, and in return for them agreeing to not raise the alarm in order to allow Beleg to sneak up on more unsuspecting humans, the elf gave them some of the foodstuffs that he had brought with him from the Halls of Menegroth.

Disappointingly, Turin was not at the main camp but Beleg compensated by surprising Androg so much that the sour man fell over. The rest of the Gaurwaith were quick to give thanks for his gifts of food and wine, and even quicker to accept his offer to help prepare supper.

As he chopped a winter squash for the stew, Beleg let out a long breath. If only Turin were so willing to accept his help.

Sounds of greetings broke the elf from his thoughts. Neithan had returned to camp.

Beleg put down his knife and squash and stepped in from of the table. He suddenly felt anxious to see Turin. How had he fared since the elf last laid eyes on him? Would he look different? 

But the elf smiled when he saw Turin. Yes, the man seemed older and his face was more pinched with hunger, but Beleg would recognize that resting scowl anywhere.

“Neithan!” Beleg called out. “I had heard that you and your men have been in wanting of supper as of late. No longer! I brought enough to last through this winter.”

“And we thank you for it.” Turin’s reply was oddly reserved.

Beleg frowned. The man had stopped several feet away from him. Had he become so proud and foolish that gift of food in a harsh winter were viewed as insults? Beleg returned to his stew preparations and did not speak again to Turin.

After a tense supper, Beleg motioned for Turin to follow him

Beleg picked up a small satchel as he led Turin out of earshot. Once satisfied with the distance, he turned and found the man standing close beside him like he had always done in the North-Marches. The gesture was an apology of sorts and it eased Beleg’s heart.

From the satchel, the elf pulled out the Helm of Hador.

“This is your own which I bring back to you.” Beleg said. “You left it in my keeping in the North-Marches.”

Turin looked at the helm in silence for a long time. His eyes looked far away and in deep thought.

“I think I will not wear it, not yet.” He said slowly. “But I will keep it with good will for your keeping of it.”

Beleg made to protest, but Turin held up a hand.

“I will place it on my desk in my room so that I will never forget it.” Turin looked at the elf as he spoke. “Come, I will show you.”

Beleg followed the man into the mountain to Turin’s rooms. The elf clutched the satchel; it contained one more gift he had yet to give.

Turin’s rooms were both exactly as Beleg had imagined them and disappointing. The walls were bare and the table on which the man placed the Helm of Hador was without other personal objects. Turin rested his right hand on top of the Helm for a moment. Then, he turned and stepped close again to Beleg, looking at the satchel curiously.

“What else have you there?” Turin asked.

“One last gift.” Beleg brought out the silver-wrapped waybread. “Here is _lembas_ , the waybread of the Eldar that no man has yes tasted.”

But Turin stepped back in anger.

“I will not receive gifts out of Doriath” He replied hotly.

Beleg at once was furious at the new distance and Turin’s words. He crowded into the taller man’s space as he yelled.

“Then send back your sword and your arms! Send back the teaching and fostering of your youth! Send back the food from the stomachs of your ill-bred men!”

“They are not ill-bred!” Turin yelled back.

“Did you not say they were thieves and murderers?” Beleg countered. “Here you live, a great captain of criminals! And yet these criminals had enough grace to say thanks for receiving gifts in their hour of need!”

“I said my thanks.”

“Through clenched teeth. Such like a child forced to behave by his parents!” Beleg yelled. “You have not grown a day since I saved you in the woods!”

“Get out!” Turin bellowed down at the elf.

“No.” Beleg said.

Their faces were inches apart, but both were shaking with anger. The elf opened his mouth to say something further but reconsidered. Turin looked down at Beleg’s mouth, pressed into an angry tight line. He felt something deep inside of him.

“If you will not leave then I will!” And so Turin pushed past the elf and stormed into the cold winter night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of the dialogue was stolen shamelessly from tolkien!  
> third & final chapter is written, I'm just editing:)


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Turin stayed out all through the night though it was bitter cold. His mind ran their argument over and over. Beleg was right, he was a stubborn child. He pushed away those who tried to help. He had to do everything by himself. Turin cursed himself and shivered. He wandered further from the cabins. Beleg would leave him, it was no more than he deserved. The rising sun caused the fresh snow around him to sparkle cruelly and Turin’s eyes watered.

He passed through a thicket of trees and came upon a half-frozen pond. At the edge, Turin looked down at his reflection: hard eyes, unkept beard, cheeks red from cold and anger. For a moment he simply stared at this figure. Slowly he brought his hand up to touch his face, and he recalled a memory from his second year with the marchwarderns and Beleg in Doriath.

At that time, Turn had been not quite reached twenty years and had decided to grow a beard. Beleg had just left for a few weeks to hunt orcs further north. The other elves spoke encouraging words and shared memories of seeing bearded men for the first time. On the night that Beleg was due to return, Turin examined his new beard in the mirror. He had not cut it once during those weeks, and the hair had grown in thick and full. Satisfied, he moved to wait at the edge of camp in order to see Beleg’s reaction. Turin had imagined the captain would be proud and he would see Turin as a valiant man.

Turin heard the horses before he saw them. He stepped forward to greet Beleg and the rest of the soldiers. Beleg rode at the front of the group, he faced backwards and joked with an elf riding behind him.

“Beleg!” Turin called out. At the sound of Turin’s voice, Beleg turned with a smile to greet Turin. But the smile fell from his face when he saw the beard. Turin saw Beleg’s face briefly contort with disgust before he composed it. In that moment, Turin wished for the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. But his pride rooted his feet to the floor as Beleg trotted his horse over to him.

“So, the beard is new.” Beleg’s voice was carefully neutral as he dismounted to stand in front of Turin.

“Don’t lie to me.” Turin replied hotly. He felt the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment.

“Turin…” Beleg rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “If you want the truth you shall have it: you look like a feral mancub.”

Turin worked his jaw angrily. “And you have the manners of one!”

“Ah, Turin –“ Beleg began to apologize, but Turin pushed past him and stormed across camp to his room. Moments after he locked the door, Turin heard Beleg trying to open it. When he realized the door was locked, Beleg began knocking loudly.

“Turin, please open the door so I can apologize to your beard.”

Turin remained unmoved.

“I will wait out here until you open the door.” Beleg waited to hear a response, but after nothing happened, he continued, “I will wait here all night. But I warn you I am very tired from the journey back so I may fall asleep on your door.”

Turin turned to face himself in the mirror he kept hung over the wash bin. With a sigh, he brought out his shaving razor and worked until his face was smooth once more. After double checking to make sure he hadn’t missed any hairs, Turin opened the door. Beleg’s eyes roamed over Turin’s newly shaven face. As the two stood face to face, Turin realized that he had grown slightly taller than the elf. This pleased him for some reason.

Beleg spoke first, “I am sorry for my words; they were spoken cruelly and thoughtlessly.”

“And I’m sorry for my anger.” Turin said quietly. Beleg smiled at him, then he raised his hand to Turin’s face. He gently ran his thumb over the smooth jawline. Turin held his breath and suddenly became aware of the closeness of the elf’s body. He looked down at Turin’s lips, full and slightly parted. Turin wanted.

But Beleg dropped his hand and the moment broke. Turin swayed forward slightly before he could stop himself, his body chasing the receding contact. He gripped the doorframe and leaned back.

“Have you eaten tonight?”

“No.” Turin hated how out of breath he sounded.

“We shot a large quail on our return journey, shall we see if there’s anything left for us? I know you how you brood when you miss dinner.” Without waiting for a response, Beleg turned with a smile and began walking towards the middle of the camp. Turin let out a shaky breath and took a second to compose himself before following his friend – ‘his friend and nothing more!’ he reminded himself.

A lump of snow landing on his neck shook Turin out of his memories. He hissed as he took stock of how his body fared in the cold weather. He had lost feeling in his feet and hands but hadn’t noticed before now. Any more time spent daydreaming about the past and he would get frostbite.

The trudge back to camp was difficult, though not long. Turin still could not feel his feet or hands, but he had resolved to shave the beard. Even if Beleg had left – ‘and he should leave, why would he deign to ever come back to such an angry fool?’ – Turin would shave. The act was not entirely for Beleg. Despite the fact that Turin desperately wished the elf would see him clean-shaven, Turin also wished to remember more memories from his youth in the North-Marches. He had repressed much of his life when he left Doriath, convinced it would do him so no good to remember any past joys. But now…

Turin had reached the camp; there was no sign of the elf. His heart sinking, Turin nodded at his concerned men and pushed the door to his rooms open. Beleg was not to be found in here either. Turin let out a choked breath from the sharp pain in his heart. Was last night the last time he would ever see the elf? Would anger be all Beleg would remember of him?

Turin numbly hung up his ice-dusted cloak. Opening and closing his stiff hands to work some life back into them, he walked slowly to the wash bin and looked at himself in the small brass mirror hung on the wall. A hopeless face with dead eyes stared back. The face’s beard was dark, wild, and icy from the bitter winds of a night spent outdoors. Turin could not feel his hands yet, but he forced them to hold his sharpened razor and drag it carefully down his left cheek.

The door banged open. Turin found himself staring at the reflection of a bundled-up Beleg in his mirror. He whirled around, razor still in hand and mouth open in surprise.

“There you are! I wandered for miles through this wretched landscape looking for you.” As he spoke Beleg took off his gloves and hung his thick winter cloak on a hook.

“It’s almost too cold for a first-born out there – what were you thinking spending the entire night? I know men like to prove their resolve by suffering, but really, Turin, you’ve perfected the artform.”

Beleg stepped close to the artist in question and touched the back of his hand to Turin’s forehead. The light touch set Turin’s skin on fire. Beleg frowned and reached out to test the man’s hands. Turin could barely feel the touch, and Beleg’s frown deepened.

“You seem to be mere inches from freezing to death and your primary concern is to shave?” Beleg peered up at Turin’s eyes. “Your hands can barely hold the razor. Let me do it for you.”

“Alright.” Turin’s reply was soft, but immediate.

Beleg blinked. He didn’t think that the man would actually accept his offer to help, especially so soon after their argument last night. It seemed to the elf that Turin had made it his life’s mission to reject every offered assistance that came his way, no matter how small or who offered it. Beleg wanted to ask the man what had changed, but he feared such a question would cause him to return to his natural state of grumpiness.

The elf had never shaved a man’s beard before, had never really gotten this close to any human before Turin. But there had been that particular week many centuries ago when all his close friends, Mablung included, had decided to shave half of their heads. Beleg had cut their hair and shaved their heads then, and so he figured between that and his lifelong experience of shaving animal hair off of hides for leather-making, he could avoid accidentally cutting the man. He took the razor out of Turin’s hand – Eru’s breath they were cold – and looked up.

‘Damnation…’

Turin looked down at him like Beleg had hung the moon and sung the stars into existence across the sky.

“Your hands are cold.” Beleg said. 

“Yes.” Turin replied.

Beleg tore his eyes away to focus on the beard. The angle was a little awkward as Turin was far taller than the elf. If he asked the man for a chair, then the angle would be better but something kept Beleg from asking. The air felt tight, like a bowstring stretched completely taut, and Beleg feared that speaking would cause whatever this tightness was to shatter and break. So, he placed a steadying hand against the man’s cheek and began to move the razor in short, gentle downward strokes.

Turin didn’t even dare to breathe. The elf’s hand rested firmly on his face like it belonged there, and Turin desperately wished it did. The hand moved slowly from once cheek to the other as Beleg shaved his face, fingertips trailed across the man's lips for a brief moment. Turin could feel his face flush from the contact. Though his entire body still felt frozen, a deep heat began pooling inside him in his core. Turin willed himself to remain standing. He took a breath in through his nose and released it out through his mouth. Turin wanted the elf to remain by his side, he wanted to apologize for last night’s anger, he wanted to shake Beleg by his shoulders and beg for forgiveness, he wanted to kiss – Beleg’s hand tilted his head back, exposing his neck, and all thoughts left Turin’s mind.

When Beleg had felt the man's breath hot on his palm, he nearly cut Turin. He recovered himself quickly and pushed the man's head back, both to get at the neck hairs but also force himself to stop staring at Turin's mouth. If this did not end soon, the elf feared he would do something rash. 

Beleg finished shaving the man’s neck, paused, and ran his thumb over Turin’s jawline, just like he had many years before. The man looked down at Beleg, who seemed to be deciding something. But before Beleg could move his hand away, Turin caught his wrist. The elf kept his breathing steady but on the inside, he felt fit to shatter, the bowstring was pulled back even further.

Turin slowly moved the hand off his cheek, his own hands were warming up and painful pins and needles rushed through them. But he kept his grip on the elf’s hand gentle; he bent his head to press a chaste kiss the back of it.

“I’m sorry.” Turin murmured to the hand before dropping it.

The bowstring broke.

Several actions happened at once. The razor blade hit the floor with a clatter, and Beleg grabbed the back of Turin’s neck to pull him downwards, while he rose up on his toes to meet the man’s mouth with his own. Beleg’s hands twisted in Turin’s hair as the man’s hands wrapped around the elf’s back. Neither had time for gentleness and they clung possessively to each other. Beleg broke the kiss briefly and pressed his forehead to Turin’s.

“Never apologize for this.” Beleg said fiercely.

As a reply, Turin chased the elf’s mouth. But the man’s body had warmed up and now shivers ran freely over his limbs. Beleg pulled back again, cradling the man’s face with his palms.

“You’re shivering.”

“Nay.” Turin tried to recapture Beleg’s lips but the hands on his face pressed him back.

“Your body was too long in the cold. And I doubt you slept at all last night, you should go and lie down.”

“Come with me.” Turin said boldly.

Beleg huffed a quiet laugh. Then, he quickly squatted to bring an arm behind the man’s knees and lifted Turin up in one smooth motion. Beleg carried a shocked Turin like a bride into the bedroom and dumped him gracelessly on the bed. A still-shocked Turin let the elf take off his boots and socks, but he recovered himself when Beleg started unbuttoning his overshirt. He leaned forward to untie the elf’s pant drawstrings, but one strong hand caught both his wrists together.

“Hold a moment.” Beleg pushed Turin onto his back, leaning on one hand by the man’s face while the other hand held his wrists tightly. Turin looked up at the elf and felt the deep heat of arousal.

“I will go tell your Gaurwaith not to disturb us. You will strip and get under the covers.” Beleg’s tone brooked no comment, and Turin nodded once, amazed at the intensity in the elf’s dark eyes. 

Beleg released Turin’s hands and walked swiftly from the bedroom. Turin pulled off his shirts and pants and crawled under the bedcovers. He lay there naked and tried to will his teeth to stop chattering.

Beleg was gone just long enough to sow doubt in Turin’s mind. Had he just ruined a lifelong friendship?

But no sooner had the thought entered his head than Turin heard the door open. He sat up in bed on shaking arms.

“We will not be disturbed unless Morgoth himself walks into camp.” Beleg smiled brightly. The elf then stripped quickly and methodically and left his clothes folded on a chair in the corner of the room. Turin barely had a chance to gaze at the perfectly smooth skin before Beleg pushed him back flat and climbed into bed with him.

“It was not in jest when I told you to sleep.” Beleg rolled Turin onto his favored sleeping side and moved in close behind him. The elf hooked a leg over the man and snuck one arm over the pillow so that Turin now rested his head against Beleg’s bicep. Between that and the elf’s chest pressed flush against his back, Turin felt warm and oddly fatigued. The night spent out in the cold finally catching up to him.

Turin twisted around to face the elf. He kissed him sweetly.

“Stay.” Turin whispered.

“Turin…” Beleg cupped the man’s cheek with his free hand, and Turin marveled at hearing his true name after so long a time.

“I will never be parted from your side again.” Beleg said.

They kissed, sure and familiar. It felt right to Turin. He leaned away slightly to yawn, and he felt Beleg’s chest shake with silent laughter.

In one smooth motion, Turin laced his fingers through Beleg’s hand, turned over onto his other side, and brought their joined hands to rest over his heart. Beleg hummed with pleasure and lightly kissed Turin’s shoulder.

As his breathing slowed and he drifted off to sleep, Turin realized he was completely warm and content for the first time in his life.


End file.
